


Maybe

by lillpon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Loss, Mourning, Running Away, Tragedy, idk just a sad little thing that came up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 12:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18756856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillpon/pseuds/lillpon
Summary: He wants to deal with it, and he doesn't want to die; but he's just so tired.(set before s7)





	Maybe

If he thinks about it, he already knows the feeling. But this time, he doesn’t have the energy to let that rage burst out, and besides, there’s really no point in it.

He wasn’t the only one to lose it after Emma died, of course. She went down brave, strong… and when her killer looked up, he only managed a quick face of despair as a mob of angry people came at him and ripped him apart.

He thinks about it and wonders whether it would have made a change to anyone if he had joined the crowd. He couldn’t have saved her at that moment, anyway. No-one could.

Her burial proceeds normally; he doesn’t even dare suggest they bury her at sea, and he can’t shake off the thought that maybe now, he’s truly alone and people are showing their true intentions.

He knows it’s paranoid, of course. But the people closest to him are mourning too, as deeply as he is - and he doesn’t know how to handle that. It’s been so long since someone truly mourned with him.

He contemplates saying goodbye, but he knows David will be angry. He may very well punch him; maybe, deep in his heart, Killian knows they don’t want to lose him too, even if it’s just distance he’ll put between them.

But he’s just tired. And the pull of his ship is almost physical. Truly, what’s left of his heart belongs to the Roger after all.

So he leaves. He packs a few provisions and sneaks away in the middle of the night.

They’ll be furious. At least they’ll have someone to direct their anger to, since Emma’s killer died so unceremoniously.

He hopes they never get to know that it wouldn’t have made a difference if the killer had died differently. Loss is still loss.

He left no means for the others to get back to him, he barely managed to write a “I’m sorry. Goodbye” to prevent them from thinking he was taken away against his will.

Though he’s not exactly sure what this damn will is. Part of him begs him to stay; for Henry, for David, for the bond he started building with the others…

But he’s just tired. So he throws the magic bean into the ocean and doesn’t dare look back, knowing the sight of the town he got to call home will break him.

He doesn’t even know what he’ll do. For the first few days he just sails around, only dropping anchor at night to rest, usually on deck, looking at the stars as his silent tears seep into the wood under his head.

Maybe he’ll approach a port once he’s about to run out of supplies. But with Storybrooke’s modern methods of food conservation, and how he’d restocked the hold fully just before Emma died, thinking that they may need to force the villain to hunt them around… that may take a while.

He’s surprised to not find himself drinking. The rum is untouched in the hold; but he feels disgusted by the mere idea of it, and if he’s brave enough, he considers that a win.

“I’m managing,” he says to the stars. “That’s something, isn’t it, Swan? Maybe one day I’ll have the heart to go back to our family… if they’ll have me back. I miss you.”

Some days he sobs himself to sleep, right there, under the stars, waking up with the first sunbeam, his head hurting and his back complaining. Other days he picks himself up and manages to find a bed to collapse on.

Maybe, one day… maybe.

“Is it selfish?” he says to the stars. “Am I too self-centered to allow myself to feel the others’ pain? Is that why I couldn’t stay and mourn with them?”

Maybe he hadn’t changed at all. Maybe he’ll never go back.

“Maybe I’m too much of a coward to take my own life now. I’m fearing what Henry would think, what example I’d set… and yet here I am running away from them.”

There’s still that voice that tells him he’s just tired. Maybe he’ll get back on his feet, at least enough to handle going back. Oh, and of course he’d have to be ready to face their anger for leaving.

Maybe… maybe.


End file.
